Anton and Cecil Cats at Sea Part 7

Gretchen seemed unable to speak, so Cecil responded. "Hey there, have we met?"

"Name's Remy," said the dog happily. He was tall and muscular, with floppy ears and long, rippling fur. Cecil noticed that he wore a red headscarf tied around his neck. That looks so stylish, thought Cecil, though in the next moment he realized that some human must have put it on him. Then he thought the dog just looked like a clown.

"Are you being traded?" Cecil asked.

Remy woofed a short laugh, causing Gretchen to flinch. "Not a chance," he said. "I'm with him," and he gestured with his black nose back over his shoulder toward the market master. As he did so, the cats spotted a leather collar circling his neck, tucked under the scarf.

"So," said Gretchen, regaining her voice and stepping forward. "You're not . . . free. Right? That man owns you?"

Remy chuckled again as his deep brown eyes appraised the crate. "More free than you, eh? We don't get that many cats in here; usually they're pretty well-liked by their owners. Were you no good at your job on the s.h.i.+p?" He seemed genuinely interested.

"We were great," replied Gretchen pointedly, arching her back. "But it's a crew of pirates . . ."

Remy nodded and smiled. "Gotcha."

A small gray monkey began shrieking hysterically in a cage across from the cats. In a flash the dog darted to the monkey's cage and issued several sharp barks and one long growl, frightening the monkey into cowering silence. Remy trotted back and sat next to the cats' crate.

"Not bad," said Cecil quietly.

"I'm good at my job," said Remy.

"He's not going to let us out of here, if that's why you're flattering him," Gretchen murmured to Cecil. Remy woofed in agreement.

"Okay," said Cecil, "then have you seen any large old whales around here by chance? Or a mysterious eye, up in the sky?"

Remy snorted. "Whales don't usually pull up to the dock to visit, so that's a big no," he said. "As for an eye . . ." He paused, panting. "A couple of nights ago I did see something like that. A bright cloud, could have been a trick of the moonlight. I'm not sure."

Gretchen stepped up to the front of the crate and pressed her face against the slats. "Did it speak to you? Do you remember any more?"

"It pa.s.sed over me, blew right by. But there was one odd thing about it," he said, staring at Gretchen's face. "It looked just like your eye."

A dreadful squawking rose from a cage down the row containing a fearsome white-headed bird. It had beaten its wings against the cage door until the thin reeds gave way, and now the bird stumbled out, furious, its sharp beak slas.h.i.+ng the air. Remy leaped and in one motion brought the bird to the ground, firmly but carefully and without crus.h.i.+ng it. The market master rushed over and wrestled the bird into another cage as Remy stepped back.

Cecil noticed a deep scratch on the dog's foreleg from the bird's beak and felt his heart pound. In a strange way he envied that scratch. Even though Remy was "owned," he was free to run away if he wanted to; he was in charge of his own destiny. Cecil, at this point, felt his freedom slipping away.

That evening as the pirate s.h.i.+p left port and sailed smoothly out on the dark open sea, Cecil, though relieved he and Gretchen had not been traded, was quietly miserable. He wondered how many other ports there were like that one, and whether Anton could have gotten off his s.h.i.+p at one of them and started a new life in a village somewhere, giving up the idea of getting home. How could Cecil find him then? Or worse-the encounter with the vulture was the first time he had reckoned with the idea that Anton might not even be alive anymore.

"Where are you, brother?" he said softly to the horizon.

Gretchen crouched next to him on a box by the deck rail, not knowing what to say. She could not say that it would all work out in the end, because at this point, she didn't see how it would. So she curled her tail carefully around behind him and sat silently, watching the empty ocean and the wide starless sky, waiting with him for a sign.

Days and nights went by without sighting a single other s.h.i.+p or land of any kind. This was quite unusual, and the crew of the Leone began to get restless. There was some concern over the supply of fresh water on board, and indeed whether they had fallen off course somehow. The captain strode up and down the deck, growling at his men as they took measurements by the weak sun and consulted charts and maps. The stars, their usual steadfast guide, were obscured by swirling clouds night after night until the crewmen threw up their hands, helpless. Pointing up at the sun and then straight off the starboard side, the captain barked an order to head in that direction, but the wind was so light that the sails barely caught enough to turn the s.h.i.+p.

Gretchen and Cecil tried to escape the late afternoon heat under the shelter of a canvas tarp.

"I mean," said Cecil, exasperated, "the saying is, 'Where the eye sees the eye,' right? So: that's two eyes. I think one of the eyes has to be the one in the sky, from the legend."

"Definitely," agreed Gretchen, nodding. "The shape is a cat's eye, just like the dog said."

Cecil thought again about the warm glow he'd felt on the clipper.

"But what's the other eye?" she asked. "That's the question."

"Could it be my eye?" he wondered, touching his paw to the side of his face. "Or the eye of any creature who's in trouble?"

Gretchen frowned. "I don't think so. When I saw it, nothing in particular happened to me. I wasn't 'found.' And the dog said he saw it, their eyes met, but he didn't say that anything happened to him, either."

"Hmmm," said Cecil, scratching behind his left ear thoughtfully. "So what is . . . the second eye?"

At that moment they both felt a subtle but unmistakable lift and fall of the s.h.i.+p, which was odd after so many days of stillness. The two cats emerged from under the tarp and hopped up on a barrel near the stern to survey the situation, which was strange indeed. The sky was the color of swirling smoke and the sea was a dark gray-green, with small ripples beginning to appear on the surface. Peering over the railing, they saw little fish moving in fast schools under the s.h.i.+p, and birds flying singly in all directions just above the water. "Birds usually mean there's land nearby," Gretchen said, "but there's nothing to see from here."

The crew behaved as if they were suspicious of the weather, scowling at the sky and sea. The wind whipped unpredictably, snapping the sails taut and plunging the s.h.i.+p in one direction, then dying just as suddenly, then changing direction. Sheets of rain pa.s.sed over them like waves with brief periods of calm in between.

"What's going on? Where are we?" asked Cecil, trying to take everything in at once.

"Don't know," replied Gretchen. "Never seen anything like this before. I don't like the looks of it, though."

In silent agreement, the cats remained on deck despite the intermittent soakings, huddled together for warmth and protection. They both felt that what happened next might be important somehow. The night pa.s.sed slowly, as the strange weather neither worsened nor abated, yet seemed to be pulling the s.h.i.+p intentionally off course. The cats dozed, waking in the darkness to the sound of the wind bl.u.s.tering against the sails. Finally Cecil thought he detected through the gloom the barest brightening of the sky on the horizon. Dawn must be coming at last, he thought. He had just noticed a bird flying by both backward and upside down when a pirate shouted from high in the crow's nest. All eyes looked up at him, and then to where he was pointing.

Gretchen got to her feet. "Land," she said.

Cecil stood as well and squinted into the dim light. Directly off the bow, though still a good distance off, was a tall green island. Almost pointed at the top, with steeply sloping sides, the land appeared to be covered with lush vegetation and small trees, but no s.h.i.+ps, houses, or other signs of people that Cecil could see.

"That's odd, isn't it?" he asked. "The way it just . . . showed up?" He glanced at Gretchen.

"It wasn't there last night." She sounded faintly alarmed.

In the dawn haze as the sunlight played on vapors rising from the ground, the island glowed majestically. The thinning mist made it appear to be advancing rapidly toward them. The crew of the pirate s.h.i.+p now just stood and stared. Finally the captain, his large feathered hat set aside because of the unpredictable gusts of wind, gripped the railing to steady himself.

"Pull yourselves together, lads!" he shouted. "It's land we've been waiting for, is it not? And here we have it!" He gestured widely at the island. "Drop anchor and make ready a landing party to fetch water and whatever stores are to be had. On the double!"

As the crew broke out of their stupor and hurried to their tasks, the first mate, a short man with silver spectacles and a blue brocade vest, stood next to the captain looking out at the ocean, his spygla.s.s held slack by his side.

"Cap'n, sir," he said in a low voice.

"What is it?" The captain whirled to him.

"The currents, do ye see?" He pointed. "An' the wind, too. We're bein' pushed."

"Well, of course we are, you fool!" the captain growled. "That's how we sail-currents and wind-is it not?" He picked up his feathered hat and swatted the first mate's head with it.

"I only mean, sir," said the first mate, flinching, "this time it seems we're being drawn in, like a magnet's pulling at us, in a manner of speakin'."

The captain stared. Indeed, the s.h.i.+p felt like it was moving on its own, turning to starboard, then to port, as puffs of wind and surges of waves drew it along a path into the island, while no man's hand touched the wheel. When the s.h.i.+p closed to within a few hundred yards of the sh.o.r.eline, the wind died and the waves became calm. The s.h.i.+p slowed to a halt, turning lazily in place.

The captain glanced sharply around. "What's this now?"

Pointing this way and that with his long cutla.s.s, he ordered the sails trimmed to bring the s.h.i.+p around, but there was no breeze to catch no matter what the crew tried. Finally he stomped his boot on the deck, chose six crewmen with a whip of his sword and ordered them into the dinghy.

Cecil turned to watch the sailors. "Now what are they doing?" he asked Gretchen.

"They're going to try to send a small boat out to it," she replied, glancing at the preparations. "It's weird. I think the crew is scared."

The cats turned toward the bow again and Gretchen gasped sharply.

"Cecil!" she called. "There it is!"

It was the Eye.

Suspended low in the thin gray clouds directly above the island, it glowed faintly but steadily. Cecil stood frozen, captured by the sight.

"It does look like a cat's eye, doesn't it?" he said admiringly. "But why do you suppose it's over there?" The crew seemed not to have noticed it.

Gretchen suddenly had a thought, blazing like a flame in her mind. She shoved Cecil with both front paws. "You've got to go there. Get on that little boat right now." She was practically bulldozing him with her head. "I don't know why the Eye is there and I don't know why we seem to be heading in that direction or why the men are acting strange, but it must mean something, and you need to get closer."

Cecil nodded energetically. "Sounds like an adventure to me."

"Just go," Gretchen insisted.

They scrambled toward the gap in the railing where the small boat was being lowered into the water, but the men standing on deck brushed them back with their boots.

"I'll distract them," called Gretchen. "Jump!" She immediately fell flat on her back and began such a horrific yowling that Cecil thought she had actually been hurt. The pirates looked over at the writhing cat for a moment.

Oh! thought Cecil. Got it, and he wove between the legs of the men until he reached the gap. It was a long way down, and the boat was already full with the six men. I'll break all my bones jumping in there, he thought, but he was out of time as they were taking up the oars to row. He did the next best thing he could think of. He missed.

And for the second time in his life, he was rescued from the waves by a human. The first mate with the spectacles and the blue vest fished Cecil out of the ocean and dropped him into the boat under the tip of the prow, where he curled into a miserable, wet, salty ball of cat.

"Shoulda let it drown, I say," grumbled one of the pirates, glaring at the bedraggled cat.

"Ah, you never know," returned the spectacled man mildly. "He may find somethin' interestin', he may. Besides, black's a lucky color, ay?" He pointed to Cecil's soaked fur and smiled.

After rowing halfway to the island in the choppy sea, the men in the dinghy were aghast to see it begin to split apart. They dropped their oars and stared, until they realized that it was not one island, but two; the larger one was closer and another smaller one was just behind the first. The wind and waves had risen again and were nudging the small boat to the west bit by bit, so they could not seem to reach the first island. When the second came into view it gave the impression that the two were drifting apart.

"What the devil is this nonsense?" cried one of the men.

Cecil was watching as well, holding on to the prow of the boat with his paws. He felt a strange tingle at the tip of his tail and inside his ears. He had no idea what the pirates would do now, but he could still see the Eye, steadily glowing above the islands.

Like the pages of a great book falling slowly open, the parting islands separated, and in the channel between them, on water as placid as blue gla.s.s, an unexpected sight was revealed.

It was a s.h.i.+p.

CHAPTER 13.

Adrift The morning light streamed through the skylight of the captain's cabin as Anton woke from a deep sleep in the snug crate the captain's wife had prepared for his bed. When he stepped out, he noticed the cabin door standing open, the baby's toys scattered across the floor, but no sound of voices from the deck or footsteps in the gangway, no sound at all. The breakfast dishes lay half empty on the table, and the teapot stood ready on the sideboard.

Anton hurried up the steps to the deck. Only a few sails were set and no sailors were climbing in the rigging or working on the deck. Were they all in the fo'c'sle? He sprinted the length of the s.h.i.+p and down into the galley. The stove was warm, the air smelled of coffee, the tin pans were stacked in the rack near the long table where the sailors took their meals, but there was not a soul in the place, not in the galley or in the bunks that lined the walls. Where was everybody? Were they hiding?

Hieronymus appeared at the galley door. "They're gone," he said.

"Is it some kind of joke?" Anton exclaimed. "Where could they go?"

"I don't know," the mouse replied. "I've been searching all morning."

Anton pushed past the mouse back to the deck. "Is there land nearby? Maybe they went ash.o.r.e?"

"I don't see any land. But you take a look. Your eyes are better than mine."

Anton leaped up to a spar and climbed until he had a good view in all directions. Nothing but sea, sea, sea. No boat, large or small, in sight. The wind picked up, filling the few sails that were before it and the s.h.i.+p plunged through the waves, but it wavered without a helmsman and the sails drooped and then filled again. They were adrift, a cat and a mouse, in an abandoned s.h.i.+p.

"What do we do now?" Anton said to Hieronymus when he came down from the ropes.

"Find something to eat and drink," said the mouse.

"That's easy," Anton replied. "They left breakfast on the table. It's that oatmeal stuff you like so much."

"That's good news," the mouse allowed. "But what do we do after that?"

After that they searched the s.h.i.+p from one end to the other and found that every morsel of food and drop of water was stored away in barrels or cans or jars or metal boxes. They tried knocking the jars off shelves. Anton pried at tin lids with his claws. They spent several hours trying to break into one of the tins Anton knew contained the delicious bony little fish he had sometimes sampled. "It's just too frustrating," he said, flipping the can against the stove. "I know those fish are in there."

Hieronymus nodded, looking serious. "What we need most is water," he said. "I had an uncle who died of thirst in a larder full of flour."

"I'm thirsty right now," Anton agreed.

The water barrel was in the galley, sealed by a heavy lid with wire latches on two sides. Anton stood on the top pulling at the latches, but to no avail. Hieronymus ran all around the edges, then leaped to the floor. He stood on his hind legs and felt his way around the base with his forepaws.

"What are you looking for?" Anton said, jumping down beside him.

"A bowl," he said. "And I think I've found it."

It was really a slightly depressed area in the floorboard, no doubt worn by the cook's boots over the years, as he stood there lowering his big ladle into the bucket.

Anton poked his nose against the wood. "It's dry as a bone," he said. "What good will it do us?"

Hieronymus placed his front feet against the barrel just above the low spot in the floor. "I'm going to gnaw my way through right here." He sat back and bared his sharp little teeth. "I hope these hold up. How do they look?"

"Too small, is how they look," Anton replied. "It's impossible."

"Never say that," Hieronymus said fiercely. "What is a mouse designed for? I'll tell you. Getting into very small places and gnawing. Great-Granduncle Portymus gnawed his way out of a sealed coffin."

"This wood looks pretty hard to me," Anton observed.